


eleven minutes

by nctaliaromanova



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Acceptance, Anger, Angst, Anxiety, Bargaining, Blood, Blood and Gore, Car Accidents, Character Death, Death, Denial, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Sad, Shock, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-08-14 10:16:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20190643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nctaliaromanova/pseuds/nctaliaromanova
Summary: "i'm eleven minutes away, so why aren't you here?"she asked for eleven, but he took twelve. in which natasha is lost in a devastating car accident, and steve is forced to relive the day of her death through each stage of grief, until he finally breaks free from the chains of sorrow and lays a flower on her grave."come and lay the roses on the floor,every single sunday, don't get bored."





	1. shock

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was inspired by eleven minutes (halsey & yungblud). it tells the story of how the other copes with the loss of his partner and how he struggles to survive in a time loop, progressing through the five stages of grief. denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. 
> 
> please leave a kudos and a comment if you liked this chapter! i love reading your comments; they really do make my day!  
this might seem similar to 'only time will tell' by kim, but she's given me the green light to write this!!

** _shock_**

** _ /ʃɒk/ _ **

** _noun _**

**_the emotional and physical reaction to a _****_sudden, _ ** **_unexpected, unpleasant event._ **

——————————

Steve wasn’t sure how long it had been since he sunk to his knees on the rough asphalt beneath, tinted with splotches of red. The acrid smoke curled by his nose, shards of broken glass littering the vicinity. As the officers cordoned off the site, his unwavering gaze was set on a figure lying limp on the sidewalk, devoid of any signs of life.

There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do. Nothing left but the void that enveloped his mind in swirling darkness.

—————————— 

It was the first time in five months they had planned to meet up since the accords. With both of them once on opposing sides, it was tough for them to come to a mutual agreement, and even tougher to reconcile.

As the months passed, they never met up with each other. The occasional calls in passing were all they had. If they were sighted together, they risked being interrogated by the government— the last thing both of them would have wanted.

But as the months progressed, Steve realised just how accustomed he had become to living by Natasha’s side for the past few years. Always one to pick up his messes, tease him and set him up for dates. Steve missed when they’d be assigned on missions together, leaping off roofs side-by-side and dodging bullets together. As he sat in his Brooklyn apartment, twirling his fork mindlessly in his pasta which had turned cold, he realised just how much he missed being by her side.

Five months was enough for the rest of the world to move on from the Accords. People moved on from the speculation, the rumours, the spite.

They both knew they were a part of each other’s routines— nothing would change that. Together, they worked like a well-oiled machine, always in sync and what any good partnership should be. They would always be a part of each other.

So as he picks up the phone and dials Natasha for the first time in months, he feels as if the moon and stars were aligning, that things were finally moving in the right direction and falling back into place.

The phone barely rung for a second before the other end had picked the call up, a cautious voice emanating from the speaker.

“Steve?”

“Hey. I know it’s been a long time, but I was wondering if you’d want to meet at the cafe we-” Steve started, but Natasha beat him to it.

“Our post-mission hangout. Glad you chose it, because I’d die for a cup of iced coffee right about now.” She kicked her feet up on her desk on the other end of the line, staring at the bottom of the empty coffee mug she was holding.

With Steve grabbing his jacket and Natasha adjusting her hair before they left, it felt as if the moon and stars were drawing closer to each other, the anticipation of crossing paths brewing within them. Now or never.

“I’m eleven minutes away.” Natasha promised, willing herself to walk as fast as she could to the cafe.

“See you.” Steve responded, picking up his pace.

—————————— 

_Eclipses have always heralded positive energy, a symbol of promise and change.  
But as the moon and stars aligned for the first time in an eternity, something felt off. _

_They aligned at last, but at what cost?_

——————————

There was a moment of silence before she saw a looming object headed straight for her. The squeal of car tires sliced through the air, followed by the crushing of the windscreen and the crackle of her fragile bones.

Her body flew like a ragdoll, ramming into the brick walls of the cafe upon impact. Pinned heavily against the wall, she felt coppery blood pooling in her mouth, as she struggled to catch her breath. Her lungs felt like they were caving in, and she wondered why, until she looked down to find the hood of the car painted red. With her torso and head smashed against the windshield, her vision flashed from bitter darkness to blinding white, limbs rendered useless as they dangled by her side.

Steve barely remembered how long he had sat on the curb, cradling Natasha in his arms as she faded in and out, hardly grasping at her last moments of consciousness. As the paramedics pried her away from his grasp, Steve remembered watching as her eyelids drooped shut, the emerald green in her eyes diminishing into a pale, sage green.

The ride to the hospital was sombre, the air filled with desperation and hopelessness. He clutched onto a bouquet of roses, his hands trembling even more with each passing second. The once pristine, white roses had now been tainted with thick, crimson liquid, flecks of blood speckled onto the petals. There was an envelope sitting precariously on the rim of the bouquet, the edges singed by the inferno which had erupted as the car smashed into the bricks. His name was written neatly in cursive on the front, with a lopsided heart seemingly scribbled on in a hurry right beside the word ‘Steve’.

A whirlwind of emotions took over Steve’s shaky frame, as he struggled to keep himself together. He looked up from the roses to grimace at Natasha, lying on the stretcher with tubes of all sizes and colours shoved into her arms. An oxygen mask had been placed over her face, but Steve could barely see her chest rise and fall. The white cotton top which she had been wearing was completely stained red, a large tear ripping through the fabric above her midsection.

No matter how many paramedics held their hands to the severe laceration on her abdomen, blood still gushed between their fingers and oozed under their hands. The ebb and flow of crimson liquid in time with her terrified heart did nothing but drain the life from her rigid body.

“I’m so sorry, Natasha,” he took ahold of her hand, feeling the stiffness and coolness meet the warmth of his own. But Steve felt nothing but cold in that moment, just one more blow away from breaking. The pain stung with every breath he took, every shiver sent down his spine.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered through sobs, watching as the once active line on the monitor had slowly been reduced to an unmoving one. The dreadful long beeping drowned out the sound of his shallow breaths, and Steve could do nothing but look on and pray that this was all just a sick, twisted nightmare.

Except it _wasn’t. _

It was worse than all the other nightmares he had woken up from, a vicious cycle consuming every living fibre in him, until there was nothing left of him but an empty shell.

——————————

_Why aren’t you here?_


	2. denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he shook her with what life was left within,  
balling up the hem of her shirt in his fists,  
pleading eyes fixed on her ashen face,  
denial refusing to let him accept the reality,  
but in the end, all flowers must wilt.

_ **denial ** _

_ **/dɪˈnʌɪ(ə)l/ ** _

_ **noun ** _

_ **a statement that something is ** _

_ **not true or does not exist ** _

——————————

_ **10:49:00 ** _

Steve felt his heart lurch as he was startled out of his sleep, the events of the abysmal nightmare still fresh in his mind. Clutching at his sheets, he could feel the onset of a blinding migraine. Steve felt like its prisoner, helplessly trapped in a cage of pain. His head throbbed painfully and he willed for it to stop, squeezing his eyes shut and rolling over to the other end of the bed.

Through partially-hooded eyes, he stared blearily at the plain wall next to him, his gaze landing on a digital clock on the bedside table. The neon green numbers displayed a countdown of eleven minutes, prompting Steve to wonder why the clock wasn’t showing the standard time. Thinking hurt his head too much, but the answer came to him almost instantaneously.

_ **10:50:34 ** _

_“I’m eleven minutes away!”_

He remembered hearing the excitement in her voice as he smiled to himself. A sense of trepidation and exhilaration washed over him; he felt relieved to be falling back into their normal routine, but something about this particular meeting felt off.

Just eleven minutes. He could reach her in time, he definitely could. The cafe which they’d agreed to meet at was only a few blocks down the road.

——————————

_ **10:52:11** _

Steve stumbled out of bed, knocking over a flower vase in the process. The porcelain shards were littered all over his bedroom floor, each piece sinking into the bottom of his feet as he ignored the searing pain ripping through his limbs.

Grabbing his jacket draped on the back of the couch, he made a run for the door, slamming it shut and not bothering to turn the key.

“She’ll be alright, we’ll just meet at the cafe, we’ll just—” Steve murmured under his breath, hastily draping his jacket over his shoulders and jamming his fingers into the lift buttons. A feeling of unease settled within him, the events of the nightmare buried somewhere deep in his consciousness. It wasn’t apparent to Steve, but the memories of it still lingered somewhere at the surface, taunting him.

Why was he so terrified for? Wasn’t he supposed to meet Natasha at a cafe? His mind raced faster than he would have liked, feeling like he was running a marathon when it was in fact, supposed to be a leisure walk.

As he reached the lobby, he dashed onto the sidewalk, burying his hands deep in his pockets. Minutes crept by, and the feeling of uneasiness grew, until he felt himself sprinting round the corner, the signage of the cafe barely within his sight.

_ **10:55:18 ** _

He was bolting towards the storefront so quickly, he barely paid attention to the fact that there was someone walking towards him in the opposite direction, her head bowed. Steve collided into her, raising his head to find that he was staring straight into a pair of green eyes. It was the kind of green which brought warmth into the unforgiving cold surrounding them.

“Steve!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands around his neck to bring him into a warm embrace. Steve stared at her incredulously, his mind racing with thoughts.

The image of Natasha’s stiff body laying on the hood of the car conjured in his mind, and all he could see was a sea of red pooling around the car tires. The smoke billowing from where her head lay, the fallen bouquet of roses, the smell of burnt rubber; they all started coming back to him violently like a tsunami, each new detail surfacing even stronger with the next wave.

“You’re alright… You’re alright.” He spoke slowly, his hands clutching onto her shoulders, as he noticed how she wore a smile which reached her eyes, but quickly fell thereafter.

“Steve, what’s going on?” She raised her eyebrow in confusion, shooting Steve a judgemental look with her hands on her hips. She noticed how he was lacking his usual optimism, but was instead wearing a concerned look.

“Please tell me you’re okay-” He pleaded, hands running up and down her shoulders. He needed to know if it was Natasha he was seeing. He needed to know if she was okay, and that the events of his nightmare were all just vivid imagery which his imagination had concocted.

“Of course I am! What’s not okay about meeting up with _Steve Rogers_ himself,” she nudged his side, “and going for a coffee with him?”

Maybe it was a nightmare. It had to be. Natasha herself was standing before him, what other reason did he have to not believe she was alive?

——————————

_ **10:58:28 ** _

There was a warmth her auburn hair brought to her features, a simple frame for her smile and eyes that held more love than she would ever admit to. It softly reflected the sun, tumbling over her shoulders and reflecting the strengthening daylight in waves.

He couldn’t help but stare at her, taking in every little detail about her features. It seemed like he hadn’t seen Natasha in forever, which was partially true, but why did it feel as though he had not seen her in years?

Steve could sense the memories of her starting to fade, every detail becoming less noticeable, until there was almost a void in place of where Natasha used to reside in his mind.

With that thought in mind, he grabbed her hand, desperate to reclaim the vanishing memories he once had of her.

“You’ll stay, right?” He whispered, his tone suddenly hushed. Natasha seemed to sense that Steve wasn’t acting normal, so she questioned.

“Steve, are you okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a heavy sigh, a part of him thankful that the terrors from the night before were just a part of his imagination.

But a part of him felt distant from Natasha, sorrowful, almost.

Just as she was about to pry even further, Steve felt his grasp on her hand weaken immediately.

_ **10:59:43** _

The screech of tires on gravel pierced the quiet atmosphere, and for a moment, Steve could see a pair of bright lights in his peripheral vision.

A car was spinning out of control, dark skid marks imprinted on the road.

Then, he felt a force tear Natasha away from him, sending her flying through the air.

As he looked up, all he could see was red seeping into the crisp, white petals of the roses Natasha had hid behind her back just moments before. The bouquet was still in her grasp, her hand laying on the hood of the car.

It couldn’t be true. The car couldn’t have rammed straight into her.

“No…” He ran forth, tripping over the debri littered on the ground and crashing into the side of the car. As he moved his hand to lift her head, Steve was met with shut eyes.

None of this was real. It was all just a nightmare. It was all just a sick prank his mind was playing on him.

But as he shook her shoulders and called out her name through choked-up sobs, Natasha never stirred. She never opened her eyes to look at Steve one last time.

Steve lowered his head, feeling the burn in his throat as he struggled to accept the reality of what he had seen. As he closed his eyes, he prayed that he was just trapped in another nightmare.

——————————

_ Tomorrow, he’ll wake up and it’ll be like all the other mornings they used to share. She’ll be there, lying right next to him, nestled against his side, one hand resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat matching her own. She’ll be in her oversized t-shirt, one of many pieces stolen from his wardrobe. Then, like every morning, he’d tuck a strand of fiery, red hair behind her ear, prompting her to let out a small chuckle. With the both of them swathed in layers of blankets, they’d lay with each other for hours. Mornings have always been this way for them. _

Except, it would no longer be this way for them now, wouldn't it?

——————————

“It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” Steve remembered stroking through her bloodied hair, his tears falling onto her back unceremoniously. He knelt down beside her, not caring for the blood that stained his jeans. The salty tears that flowed unchecked from his eyes, the sheer nothingness that now took hold of his soul threatened to engulf him entirely.

“This is all just a dream. You’ll wake up tomorrow beside me-” he choked, giving way to the enormity of his grief.

“And you’ll come up with some stupid excuse for stealing my shirts again,” he drew back, pausing to picture her lying next to him, donning one of his grey t-shirts.

“You’re not really gone…”

_ She was alive. _

_She was alive. _

_She was alive. _

_ **11:00:00 ** _

——————————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked this chapter, leave some kudos and a comment!! if you have any constructive feedback, i'd appreciate it so much <3 i'll try to update the next chapter soon!


	3. anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a burning rage shoots through his veins,  
but he doesn't know where to direct it at,  
so it manifests itself as blood and bruises,  
as mindless desperation and riots of fury,  
but in the end, he could only blame himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's only going to get more angsty from here :-(  
but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless, leave a comment  
if you liked reading it!! they make my day <3!

** _anger_ **

** _/ˈaŋɡə/_ **

** _noun_ **

_ **a strong feeling that makes you want to ** _

_ ** hurt someone or be unpleasant because of ** _

_ ** something unfair or unkind that has happened ** _

——————————

_ **10:49:00** _

Steve couldn’t piece together the fragments of his nightmare. There were dense, grey fumes billowing from a mangled car, clouding his vision. Then came the red. A stream of crimson snaking its way down the side of the car. The garish blue lights accompanied by the distressing wail of sirens. Muffled screams of dismay from passersby, gentle rubs of consolation on his back. But above all, he could barely make out a figure smashed against the wall, her red hair sprawled over the car hood. 

——————————

Steve shot his eyes open, letting out a sharp gasp as he blinked in succession. In an attempt to ground himself, he scanned the room, until his eyes fell on the harsh rays of light cutting through the layer of dust in the air. Another day, another nightmare. Except, this nightmare was tinted red. It was fueled with strings of curses, incoherent shouts and desperate pleas. 

Steve was never one to lose his composure easily, but in that moment, he felt waves of fury roll off him as blood rose to his cheeks. His fingers coiled into fists, the phone in his hand almost crushing under pressure. 

The term anger barely even touched the tip of the volcano that he so clearly was in that moment. 

As he looked down at his watch, the dreaded countdown shone in bright neon, taunting him. 

_ **10:51:27** _

Why did it have to be her? The woman who made him feel like he was home, the one who made him more than just a shield, the one who gave his heart a place in her own. Then, shattering that very same heart as she left him, leaving a crushed bouquet of roses in her wake. Making him wish he never knew existence, so that he’d never have to relive the events of her demise in a vicious loop.

He remembered taking out his rage on the seasoned punching bag hung in his apartment, a gift from Natasha last Christmas. He struck it relentlessly, his loose top clinging to his back and his eyes stinging slightly. 

His knuckles were rubbed raw, droplets of blood threatening to spill from open wounds. There were bruises along his arms and legs, from all the times his arm or foot had collided with a wall out of sheer anger. 

All he was now was a living inferno, rage fueled by a black pit of despair and hopelessness. 

_ There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do, and Steve wondered what would’ve happened if he had been the one to die instead. _

——————————

_ **10:53:11** _

Leaning against a pillar, Steve folded his arms; his jaw clenched and face squared. The pain settling in the base of his skull had increased tenfold from minutes ago, clawing its way down his throat. 

“S-Steve?” He could feel the presence of company stood a few feet away from him, his gaze still fixed onto the ground. He could barely squint at the fading, red stains on the concrete before he felt a cautious hand trailing along his arm.

Raising his head slowly, his gaze fell onto a redhead. She had lines of concern and worry etched onto her face, as she scrambled to access the multiple bruises adorning his skin. He was battered, his emotions weeping behind a curtain of anger. His skin was rupturing above the growing purple blooms, but Natasha’s caring touch seemed to have taken some of the pain away.

They could go back to his apartment, patch him up on their bed like how she always did post-mission. They could sew each other’s wounds shut and wrap layers upon layers of bandages around their broken bones. 

But his torn insides remained an open wound, unable to heal or scar. Not even Natasha could staunch the warm blood seeping through his clothes and pooling all around him. This was his life now, a sea of unending red.

——————————

_ **10:56:02** _

“This is _not_ okay,” she whispered in a hushed tone, scanning him from head to toe before pleading for an answer. “What happened?”

Steve couldn’t bring himself to answer her, couldn’t bring himself to face her. 

“You’d never understand.” He retorted, a tinge of malice laced between his words unintentionally, prompting a look of shock from Natasha. Before she could question further, Steve grabbed Natasha’s shoulders tightly, locking eyes with her.

“I shouldn’t have left you!” He shouted, the grip on her shoulders increasingly tighter by the second, causing Natasha to wince and squirm under his aggression. 

“We were so close to meeting again but we were torn apart! You were standing right-” he could barely register his words before Natasha cut him off.

“Steve, you’re here with me. You need to calm down, it’s probably one of your nightmares.”

Except, it was. It was a hellish nightmare, and not even Natasha could shake him out of it. That was when he realised he was trapped in a never-ending cycle of death— _a time loop._

——————————

_ **10:56:49** _

In his rage, he was blind to her, to the kind, genuine intentions she harboured from her heart and soul. All she wanted to do was to comfort him and reassure him, but he was seething with rage.

In an attempt to ground him, Natasha placed a palm on his chest, feeling his quickening heart rate and the unrestrained fury brewing within him. Although her touch had always been a comforting gesture to Steve, he wanted nothing but to get away from her. 

“Steve, you need to understand that-”

“Understand _what_? You don’t understand any of this, Nat. You’re not the one who has to watch your own death over and over again every single day! You’re not the one who has to bear the guilt of not saving the one you love,” he paused, correcting himself, “_loved_… in time!” 

Natasha reeled back in shock, struggling to comprehend his words. Her own death? Saving the one he loved?

“Steve, you’re not making sense. Let’s get you home and I’ll patch you up, okay?” She avoided the topic, but his words had an air of finality to them. No matter how hard she tried to wake him up from his nightmare, nothing changed his mind. 

“Stay away, _please_. Just get out of here.” He scanned his surroundings frantically, his eyes roaming across the cars in the vicinity. He knew the impending crash would tear her away, so he shoved her to the side roughly, causing her to stumble over the curb. 

The bouquet of flowers she had been hiding behind her back fell to the concrete with a thud, stray petals falling onto the ground softly. 

——————————

_ **10:57:19** _

She knew she should have stayed quiet and waited for the storm to abate, but she couldn’t help but fight against his violence, shielding herself from his words until she could no longer take it. Why was he so filled with rage? What had she done? 

“Please, don’t leave again.” He pleaded, his rage finally turning into anxiety and desperation. As he slid his back down the side of the wall, he closed his eyes, expecting her to be by his side with her soft touch comforting him once again. 

Except there was a brooding silence, only the low rumble of backfiring engines and chatter emanating from the cafe to be heard. The soft padding of her footsteps grew softer and softer, until he lifted his head to watch her stalk away from him. 

_ **10:59:26** _

“_Natasha_—“ He called out for her, but her silhouette was growing smaller on the horizon, mixing with the crowd against the rich hues of red and orange in the sky. 

Steve wanted to spring back up and run after her, but as his eyes were drawn to the numbers on his watch, he knew it was too late.

Standing with his gaze fixed on the very same brick wall, he waited with bated breath as he witnessed life taken away from her once again. The same resounding crash, the same striking colours, the same sinking feeling.

_ He had lost her again. _

_ **11:00:00** _

——————————


	4. bargaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> his hand ran over her cheeks,  
and her paw prodded at her hips,  
but she did not stir the slightest bit,  
and he's left wondering what else he   
could've done to snatch her from  
fate's vice-like grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slightly long wait! been pretty busy with school, but i managed to finish this chapter :') a special someone makes an appearance in this chapter. let me know if you liked it by commenting! :-) i hope you'll like this chapter x

** _bargaining_ **

** _/ˈbɑːɡɪnɪŋ/_ **

** _noun_ **

** _discussions between people in order to _ **

** _reach agreement on a certain situation _ **

——————————

_ **10:49:00** _

Steve sat on a soft leather couch, his hands resting by his sides and sinking into the seat. He found himself fidgeting with the bunch of keys slung around his finger, the occasional jingle piercing through the atmosphere. Letting out a long, weary sigh, he stared at the petite lady sat across him. She had long, auburn tresses falling just above her shoulders, and her eyes were hazel with just a tinge of green smoothing around the edges. Clad in a simple, white blouse with a pair of black jeans, she looked just like Natasha. Too much for Steve’s liking, in fact. 

He noticed how she had a half-empty mug of black coffee perched on the edge of her desk, how she had made a plate of peanut butter sandwiches for him, and how she had a black coat draped over her chair. 

“Steve,” her gentle voice jolted him out of the stupor he had unknowingly fallen into. “How have you been doing?”

If anyone asked him, he’d say he was doing fine. The big, forced smile plastered onto his face, the strained pleasantries he’d trade, the painful small talk he had to make on a daily basis; they were all a testament to how he had been feeling. 

——————————

Ever since fate tore them apart, he’d been wallowing in a pit of his own misery. The hundreds of takeout boxes stacked by his coffee table, the dusty tiles lining his apartment floor, the frozen leftovers stowed away in his freezer; all a result of the unending cycle of depression he had put himself into.

Until one day, Sam came by to check on him.

“You should get help.” Sam slung a comforting arm around Steve’s shoulders, sighing as he looked at him with concern. 

“What?” 

“What you’re doing, how you’re coping,” he turned around to scan the apartment, “it’s not healthy. You should see someone.” He encouraged Steve.

“Who?”

“A therapist.”

——————————

And so, he found himself sitting in an office, the nameplate on her desk glinting softly in the sunlight.

Sarah Royce.

“Better than ever.” He ran a hand through his hair, bowing his head and resting his elbows on his lap. 

Except, Sarah saw through his lies. She always did. 

Steve couldn’t deny the fact that he was having multiple visceral nightmares a night, that he was isolating himself from his teammates, that he was neglecting his own physical and mental health. He couldn’t bring himself to do the simplest of tasks; even talking and sleeping proved too laborious a task for him to do. 

“What are you doing to cope? We can work on them.” She prompted, seeing how Steve had grown quiet.

“Visiting cafes, watching films, nothing special,” he replied lazily, glancing at the clock to count down the minutes till the session ended. Just half an hour left. 

“Landmark Cafe?” Sarah questioned, but she knew the answer before he had a chance to respond. Steve had been frequenting the same cafe for as long as he could remember, and it wasn’t because the coffee tasted excellent or the affordable menu offered to patrons. 

It was because that cafe was where he’d last seen her. The last place where he had seen her was also the one where she was pinned between the front of a burning car and the smashed brick wall. Where she lay lifeless on the sidewalk, a pool of red slowly growing in size beneath her.

He’d order a cup of black coffee, then set it down on the table they used to share. He remembered how Natasha would always tease him when a pretty barista stood behind the counter, and how he’d always try to hide the heat growing in his cheeks. 

——————————

“Death may end a life, but she’ll continue to live on in your heart, forever and always.” Sarah gave him a knowing smile, as he nodded silently. “She’d want you to remember her for all the happiest moments you two shared.”

Steve wasn’t sure how he was supposed to move on, but he knew that there must have been a reason as to why he was cursed to relive this abysmal time loop every day. Maybe he was a bad person. But all Steve had ever done was to extend his help to others and give back to the world. He would donate to charities, help lost children on the streets, look out for his teammates; so what exactly had he done to deserve this? To deserve seeing Natasha die over and over again in front of his very own eyes, knowing he could do nothing to save her.

“We could try changing your routine. Do something different every day, cultivate a new routine,” she scribbled something on a notepad, adding, “it might help.”

She was right. Maybe if he made simple changes every day, things would have turned out differently. Then, he would finally have a chance of breaking out of his cycle over the past two failed attempts. 

“I’ll try,” he sighed in resignation, a small but genuine smile showing on his face. Sarah was relieved to know that they had made progress.

“See you next week.” Steve began, as he glanced at the clock which had struck two. Grabbing his coat from the hook on the wall, he managed a small wave of appreciation at Sarah, before turning his back and closing the door gently.

——————————

_ **10:50:28** _

Once he had set foot into his apartment, he resolved to change the way he did things. He started off by rummaging through his closet, emerging with an oversized, grey hoodie. It was Natasha’s favourite item of clothing to wear, although it had always belonged to him. Steve let her wear it anyway— she looked adorable in it.

He tore his old shirt off and threw it into the laundry basket; he’d been wearing the same shirt longer than he’d like to admit. 

Picking up a comb from the side table, he ran it through his hair carefully. A red hairbrush lay on the table beside where his comb had been, and he couldn’t help but remember all the mornings when he’d brush through her fiery red hair, much to Natasha’s protest. He’d braid it neatly, leaving a few strands loose to let them frame her face. Natasha would protest and claim that they were distracting during missions, but at the end of the day, she always left those strands untucked. 

As he was busy tidying himself up in the mirror, he felt a furry tail against his calf. Tilting his head down, he found himself face to face with a cat. “Hey Liho,” he gently scratched between her ears, earning a satisfied purr from the black cat. He picked her up in his arms and gave her a few brief belly rubs, knowing that she liked it.

——————————

A few years ago, Natasha returned to their shared apartment with a black creature nestled in her arms. 

“We’re naming her Liho.”

“What’s Liho?”

“A Russian devil.”

How characteristic of Natasha to name her soft, black cat after a Russian devil. Let alone, a one-eyed devil. Not that Liho didn’t embody the traits of a miniature devil though; ever since they had introduced their furry friend to the apartment, she had been terrorizing the furniture— neighbours included. But she could be calm when she wanted to, the sound of her soft paws padding against the wooden floorboards could barely be heard. 

——————————

_ **10:51:46** _

With Liho basking lazily in his arms, strands of midnight fur clinging to his grey hoodie, he turned the key in the door and headed down. 

He thought bringing Liho along would be good for a change; Natasha would definitely be happy to see her cat again. 

“Steve!” Natasha called out as he turned a corner. She was waiting at the front of the store, hands on her hips and a playful smirk gracing her lips. She noticed Steve’s hoodie and was quick to point it out. 

“Wearing  _ my _ favourite hoodie?”

“Natasha, it’s  _ mine _ .”

“Look who’s here,” her eyes lit up, and she took Liho from his arms, giving her a few more scratches on her head. 

“Thought you’d want to see our little devil again.” Steve smiled gently. 

As Natasha was busy showering Liho with much-needed attention and love, his mind had wandered off someplace else. 

What if they were standing somewhere else? Somewhere far away from the cafe. Would she still be torn away from him? Would she live? 

“Hey, I was thinking,” he scratched the back of his neck, a lopsided smile appearing on his face, “if you wanted to head somewhere else?”

He tried to keep his cool, but underneath his facade, he was bubbling with anxiety and fear. He had to make it work, he had to break out of the time loop. 

“But this is our favourite cafe! You said so yourself,” she pouted, jabbing him in the chest with her finger. 

“And besides, I  _ really  _ need an iced coffee.” She added, her eyebrows furrowed. 

Just as she was about to head into the cafe, Steve grabbed her hand, a desperate look in his eyes. The watch on his wrist caught his attention.

_ **10:52:07** _

They only had a few minutes left before the inevitable would interfere again. 

“I’ll buy you all the iced coffees in the world!” He pleaded, his words coming off in a tone more hurried than he would’ve liked. 

“What’s the rush?” 

“I just—” He paused, contemplating his thoughts. “I don’t want you to leave again.”

“Steve, I’m not leaving, okay? I thought we made up?” She responded quizzically, staring into his eyes which had seemed to have lost the blue in them, now reduced to a dull grey.

Before she could add any further, he had whisked her away promptly, walking as fast as they could towards the nearby park. Natasha didn’t probe any further; she knew there was something serious going on judging by Steve’s clenched jaw and tense expression. 

As he hurriedly bought her an iced coffee, much to her delight, he spun around to survey the vicinity. 

_ **10:59:48** _

——————————

The streets were eerily silent, the only sounds being the occasional passing winds and Natasha’s contented hums. Steve expected to hear the screech of tires any minute now, but there was none. There were barely any vehicles on the road, let alone passersby. 

The thick silence hanging in the still air would normally chill Steve to his bones, especially on a bright, sunny day when people should be milling around, but it brought a wave of relief over Steve. He was thankful for the silence; had he really averted disaster? 

Maybe Sarah was right, changing his routine did bring about a different ending. 

_ **10:59:57** _

For a brief moment, he felt relieved.

_ But fate always had its way in the end, didn’t it? _

——————————

As he was about to rush forth into Natasha’s embrace and hold her for as long as he could in gratefulness, the scene that unfolded before him implied otherwise. 

The telltale screech of tires on the asphalt rung in his ears one again, and the last image he had caught of Natasha was her figure rooted to the ground, eyes lost in the blinding headlights rushing towards her.

He couldn’t stop it. He was too late. 

_ **11:00:00** _

——————————

Steve wasn’t fully aware of how long he had knelt on the pavement, shaking her frail body back and forth, until Liho gently stalked up behind him. He felt the familiar furry tail brush against his back again, and it cost him everything to not breakdown fully. 

Liho crept towards the lifeless body next to Steve, rubbing her face along Natasha’s shoulder. Her tail had been tucked between her hind legs, her ears held back and a forlorn look in her usual, lively eyes. She prodded Natasha’s hip with her paw softly, as if she was begging for her owner to wake up. Natasha always woke up to Liho’s paw, so why wasn’t she doing so this time?

“Please don’t do this to me, Natasha,” he choked back a sob, letting his walls degrade and collapse around him. There was nothing else that could break him more than the same, nightmarish image of Natasha lying lacklustre in a pool of crimson liquid.

“You said you were eleven minutes away, that you’d be here soon. That you were dying to get a coffee, that you missed—” he looked down at the cat curled up between his knees, “ _ Liho… _ ”

Steve knew what had happened was final, and that he was cursed to relive the events of her death forever. But a part of him was still clinging to that little shred of hope that he could bargain his way out of fate and that he could still save her in time.

“Please,” he cupped her face with his hands, “just wake up, okay?” 

_ "I'm not ready to lose you yet." _

——————————

_ I am trying to remember you and let you go at the same time. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to find a way to include liho :') she's a sweetheart, albeit named otherwise!!  
thank you for reading, the next chapter will be up soon!


	5. depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> his grief withers the world around him,  
he longs to bring back the sunlight he can’t feel,  
to coax the world back into growth and warmth,  
but what if the source of that growth and warmth  
came from her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if you liked this chapter by leaving kudos and a comment! <3 glad to update again x

** _depression_ **

** _/dɪˈprɛʃ(ə)n/_ **

** _noun_ **

** _the state of feeling severe_ **

** _despondency without _ **

** _hope for the future_ **

——————————

_ **10:49:00** _

Steve lay on his bed, the once seemingly plush mattress feeling impossibly stiff, leaving him with aching muscles. His gaze was directed at the ceiling, nothing more than a plain, white slate looming over him. But at the same time, he saw everything. Every petal that fluttered to the ground, every piece of debris that shot through the air, every nauseated cry for help. 

At first, it’s merely a light sting— manageable and hurting in passing. It would throb every time he stroked his hands through Liho's fur, every time he opened the wardrobe to come face to face with her clothes, every time he set the table for two by accident. Denial had consumed him, and he was positive she’d come back to his embrace. 

His thoughts crept into his mind like a parasite, aggravating a festering wound which had slowly torn itself open a bit more as each day passed. Even the simplest tasks had been pushed far down the back burner, never seeing the light of day. 

But then it infects him— it seeps out of his eyes, leaving layers of tear-stained streaks down his cheeks. It manifests itself as dark bruises under his eyes from all the sleep he’d lost, manifests itself as the gnawing, hollow pit in his stomach from all the food he’d thrown out halfway through. His hands tremble with the slightest touch and he cringes with every detail reminding him of her. 

The alarm clock blares throughout the apartment, but all he hears are muffled wails. The mounting pressure engulfs him like a wave, and he could do nothing but lie paralysed, waves of vivid memories lapping at his mind. 

——————————

_ “Morning, Steve.” Natasha yawned through her words, fluttering her eyelids open a fraction to come face to face with him. _

_ “Morning to you too,” he poked at her shoulder, wincing as the rays of light filtering through the dusty window panes hit him. They stalled for a moment as Natasha trailed her gaze towards Steve’s arm and realised where it was positioned. He had an arm around her waist, probably too close for her liking but she remained silent, her gaze slowly meeting his. _

_ “Shit, sorry—” he sputtered, immediately retracting his arm but Natasha got to him faster than he could. Placing her own arm on his, she let out a contented sigh, “It’s okay.” _

_ For a moment, they lay next to each other, their bodies curled like a pair of parentheses. In the midst of chaotic missions and destruction, their touch felt like a sliver of calmness, heralding warmth and safety. _

_ In her embrace, he felt like he belonged, felt like he had a home in this century. It gave him hope that all was not lost when he had crashed the plane into the ice decades ago. It gave him a place in this world, it gave him a reason to stay, but above all, it gave him Natasha. _

_ But then she leaves, and he’s a broken shell of what he once was. He missed the way their silent breaths would mingle with each other, their eyes trained on to the other’s. He missed waking up to Natasha greeting him in the morning with a hand on his arm, a gentle smile forming on her tired and weary face. _

_ **10:51:36** _

He runs his hands reverently across the empty space next to him on the bed, pressing his palms deeper into the cool sheets— but all he felt was a void filled with nothing but ‘what-ifs’ and ‘almosts’. 

—————————— 

He remembered making a trip to the grocery store one day, shuffling through the aisles aimlessly until his eyes landed on a bag of chips— barbecue chips, to be exact. Normally, he would exchange a knowing look with Natasha before stuffing two bags of it into the grocery cart, snacking on one in the car and saving the other for a movie night. But now as he stared longingly at the chips on the shelf, there was little to none energy left within him to reach out and grab them. 

He remembered slumping into the driver’s seat, tilting his head back to close his eyes for a moment. As he turned the key in the ignition, his playlist shuffled and a track started playing in the background. _ Their _ track. If anyone knew Steve, they’d know that he loved singing at the top of his lungs with Natasha during car rides. Except, there was silence— just the song playing softly through the speakers and Steve’s quiet, choked-up sobs.

_ “ _ _ In another life, I would make you stay _

_ So I don't have to say you were the one that got away.” _

Grief, he’s learned, is just love. All the love he wants to give but cannot— all the unspent love gathers in the corner of his eyes as tears, forms a suffocating lump in his throat, and brews in the painfully empty cavity in his chest. It was love with no place to go. 

—————————— 

_ **10:52:12** _

Liho leapt onto his chest, pawing at him for the fourth time that morning. He had grown to notice that her purrs no longer radiated affection— reduced to merely soft, desperate calls of attention. She settled herself beside the space next to Steve, curling into herself and closing her eyes gently. 

As he threw the duvet aside reluctantly, he opened his eyes a fraction to come face to face with the foreboding numbers on the clock. 

_ Eleven minutes _. Did it really matter?

Tripping over sidewalks, narrowing missing incoming cars, rushing till his feet hurt and his ankles ached— were they really worth it? 

_ Would it change anything if he did it all over again? _

—————————— 

_ **10:55:27** _

As he arrived at the front of the cafe, he could barely hold himself together when he looked down to find a cluster of flower bouquets at his feet. Her pictures were neatly framed, laid carefully on the ground amongst the flowers left by random passersby.

The wall by the corner of the cafe was still caved in, pieces of brick falling to his feet as he gently pushed the glass doors open. The cafe was swathed in warm tones, furniture the colour of supermarket oranges and jazz softly pouring out of its speakers. Bright, warm lights lined the wooden panels on the ceiling, but even amongst all the warmth radiating from the cafe’s interior, Steve felt impossibly cold. 

The lights seemed to herald a cool, bluish tone in his eyes, just like the lights shining back at him as he watched Natasha fight for her life behind the glass windows of the operating theatre. The regular barista behind the counter wore tired eyes, her actions clumsy and draggy. Usually, he’d be greeted by a cafe filled with laughter and upbeat tunes, but now, all he could hear was silence and a soft, melancholic tune playing. 

He could vividly remember the last time they sat across from each other; Natasha had ordered her usual cup of black coffee, while Steve got a slice of cheesecake— the usual. She had a plain white top on, a leather jacket draped over her shoulders. He remembered how he’d leaned in to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but was instead met with the playful swat of Natasha’s hand, her eyes rolling in feigned annoyance. 

That was five_ months ago._

—————————— 

_ **10:56:38** _

But now as he wrapped his hands around the mug of black coffee, he could barely feel any warmth. The jacket— _ Natasha’s jacket _— which was draped around his shoulders offered little refuge from the chills running down his spine, and the creamy cheesecake left a sour aftertaste in his mouth. Everything seemed unforgiving, unwelcome, and above all, cold.

He had started to see darkness around the lights, and soon, the colours began to drain from his vision, painting the world in a terribly grey shade. 

Even with all the colour lost from his world, he never missed the familiar redhead with her striking tresses. Lifting his head to look through the glass panels, he caught sight of Natasha ambling down the sidewalk, her hair bouncing lightly on her shoulders with each step she took. She had her hands clasped behind her back, but Steve had relived this moment far too many times to not recognise her intentions— she was clutching onto a bouquet of white roses. 

_ **10:58:56** _

Seconds ticked by, and she continued walking towards him, a shy smile playing on her lips. Steve peered at her through the windows and realised she rarely ever looked so content, which led to a pang of guilt hitting him in the chest. 

He didn’t spare a single second to look away from her, knowing that he only had a few more moments to take in the sight presented before him. As much as he wanted to look away, to drown his thoughts and sights out, he found himself gazing at her, a longing look etched onto his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to himself, as he closed his eyes and invited the inevitable with open arms. Fate was playing a cruel game with him, and he was losing. 

_ Crash. _

He stayed rooted to his seat, sobbing with more violence than any storm. When the wracking sobs passed, his cries were reduced to desolate sobs that no one could bear to listen for long. His sobs were only interrupted by the need to draw air back into his caved-in lungs, and he dissolved into a despair that took his mind prisoner. 

_ **11:00:00** _

—————————— 

_ His grief withers the world around him. He longs to bring back the sunlight he can’t feel, to coax the world back into growth and warmth, but what if the source of that growth and warmth came from her? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter is coming soon! it'll be filled with fluff, i promise :')


	6. acceptance

** _acceptance_ **

** _/əkˈsɛpt(ə)ns/_ **

** _noun_ **

** _the fact of accepting a difficult_ **

** _situation as what it is_ **

——————————

** _10:49:00_ **

Rays of light poured through the blinds in soft filters, thoughts from last night barely clinging onto the last of his memory. Steve burrowed deeper into the warm duvet, reluctantly rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes. 

Soft chirps rippled through his apartment, slowly pushing the sluggishness from his mind. Steve could barely recall the last time he’d heard the birds welcoming daybreak and saw sunlight filtering through his windows. He supposed this was something the majority of people would consider normal— just a typical morning in the city. However, he found it strange. 

When was the last time he had seen the world before him swathed in colour? When was the last time he had woken up gently instead of jolting awake, the sound of metal scraping against gravel jarring in his ears? As he sat up slowly, he found the air to be much lighter, clearer, even. As if the dust had finally settled, he inhaled slowly, relishing in the way he managed to fully fill his lungs with air before exhaling out gently. 

He faces the alarm clock by his bedside, expecting it to flash in taunting red numbers again, except, it doesn’t. The numbers are lit up by a soft, blue light, Liho’s dusty paw-print faintly visible on the surface of the digital alarm.

——————————

_ **10:49:32** _

Rolling off the edge of the bed, his feet find the soft, shallow carpet. For once, he feels grounded; as if he’s been freed from the webs of ‘what-ifs’ and ‘if-onlys’ he’d gotten himself tangled into. As he ambles out of his room and towards the living room, he notices the amount of light streaming into the apartment. Curtains pulled and blinds drawn, he squints at the window before turning his attention to a note taped onto the dining table.

_ ‘Place really looked like shit. Did some cleaning, if you even do that sort of thing. Check the kitchen too.’ _

Steve trails his eyes to the bottom of the note. There, scribbled hastily with a marker, was Sam’s name, coupled with a lopsided smiley face. 

He lets out a soft chuckle, thankful for just how much less cluttered the apartment felt. The piles of unwashed dishes in the sink were rumbling in the dishwasher beneath the counter. Liho’s litter box had been cleared, her long tail flopping around in the air lazily a testimonial to her contentment. 

The aroma of freshly made pancakes wafted towards him from the kitchen island, maple syrup dripping past the edges of the hotcakes stacked neatly on a plate. He takes a bite, relishing in how the warmth spreading across his tongue contrasted against the chilled syrup. His meals had been cold leftovers and stale bread for the past few weeks, and Steve only had Sam to thank for giving him a change of breakfast options. 

Throwing on a dark red hoodie, he smoothed the edges with his palms, noticing a generous amount of cat fur clinging to the fabric. There is an unexplained excitement and anticipation bubbling within him, and Steve could only hope his feelings would not be let down by the events of the inevitable. 

_ Was this the final loop? _

——————————

** _10:50:04_ **

Colour has tip-toed its way back into his life, seeping in from the corners of his eyes. They’re not fully saturated just yet, but it was enough to paint a stark contrast against the greyscale world he had previously drowned himself in. 

As he walked on with a faint smile quirking his lips, he noticed a florist just round the corner. Normally, he’d keep his head bowed, pushing back vivid memories of the crash. Flowers wilted, their greying petals fluttering to the ground despite the shopkeeper’s best efforts to save them. 

But today, the flowers lining the wall of the shop were in full bloom, and Steve could almost catch a waft of sweet nectar. They ignited an inner smile in him, the kind that burns warm and long against his cheeks. 

Standing amongst the flowers was a lady clad in a grey hoodie, her back turned and deep in conversation with the florist. With orange sunset locks flowing past her shoulders, capturing the light in vibrant ruby hues, she ran a hand through her tousled hair.

——————————

“They came in fresh an hour ago!” The lady behind the counter reached out to pick a stalk from an unravelled bouquet, shoving it beneath Natasha’s nose with excitement. The air was perfumed by the heavy scent of roses, an aroma evocative of the days when she’d walk past the same florist with Steve. 

“What brings you here today?” The lady, whom Natasha had come to know as Lily, chirped, busying herself with a new batch of flowers she had picked up from the van an hour ago. 

“White roses,” she whispered, stretching her arm out to grab a bouquet of them from behind the counter. Lifting them to her nose, she could faintly smell the sickly, sweet aroma. 

“Ah, his favourite flowers. What’s his name again? Steeb?” Lily looked lost in thought, her eyes searching for an answer from Natasha. All she could do was let out a light-hearted chuckle, giving Lily a small nod. “Yeah, it’s Steeb.”

“We… fell out, accords and all. But I’m meeting him in,” she looked down at her watch, before returning her gaze to Lily, “eleven minutes.” 

“He’s a lucky man.” Lily handed her a couple more stalks to add to her bouquet, leaving Natasha with an overwhelming number of roses clutched in her arms.

——————————

** _10:51:24_ **

Steve watched as she reached over the counter to grab at a bouquet. But they weren’t just a regular bouquet of flowers.

They were  _ white roses _ .  _ His favourite. _

_ Natasha was getting him a bouquet of white roses. _

He dashed down the sidewalk, until he stopped just a few feet short from where Natasha had her back turned against him. She was here. She was standing just a few feet away from him, talking, laughing, _ breathing _ . Without hesitation, he sneaked up behind her and threw his arms around her waist, eliciting a soft yelp of surprise from Natasha. She swivelled around immediately, her hands dropping and reaching behind her back. Steve didn’t need to peek to know what she was hiding.

“Never thought of you to be a total sap, you know?” He grinned, reaching behind her back to gently clasp onto her wrists. He brought the bouquet of roses out from the shadows and let it bask in the gentle sunlight, barely a few inches between their chests. 

“You blew it,  _ Steeb _ .” Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose in feigned annoyance, before poking at him square in the chest with her finger. 

But instead of poking her back like he usually did, he just blanked at her with a forlorn expression, suddenly remembering why he was standing there. 

_ To say his last goodbyes. _

How was he supposed to say goodbye to her while she was just starting to come back into his life? While things were just starting to fall into place again and continuing from where they had left off?

——————————

“What’s up with the face?” Natasha raised an eyebrow, staring at Steve questionably. 

“I missed you,” he started, before correcting himself, “I  _ miss _ you.” Because he was still missing her, because she wasn’t actually there. Natasha simply chuckled softly, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Before Natasha could get another word out, he pulled away and looked at her, his face growing too serious for Natasha’s liking. 

“Listen, we’re...” He paused, looking at his wrist. 

** _10:54:52_ **

“We’re running out of time.” He divulged, not letting her cut him off before he started.

“Thank you for trusting me, even when you had your doubts about the people you loved. Thank you for being the only one to keep me grounded ever since the ice, for helping me call all of this,” he spun around, taking in the towering skyscrapers and trees swaying in the wind gently, “home.”

Natasha stared at him incredulously, wondering if Steve was acting up with a fever. What was he rambling about?

“Thank you for always pulling us out of near-death situations, for always covering me, for always patching me up after the dozens of gunshot wounds and cuts I get on missions. I really wish I could do the same for you one last time, but…” The slight flicker on his wrist watch broke him out of his reverie. 

** _10:57:24_ **

“Steve, is this supposed to be a farewell speech? Because it sounds like it and you’re definitely not going anywhere.  _ I’m  _ not going anywhere.”

Steve choked up, letting out a soft, strangled sob. As much as he wanted to agree with her, as much as he wanted to pull her close and tell her that they would never be leaving each other again, he knew deep down he was lying to himself.

_ Because it is, Natasha. It’s a farewell speech I never got the chance to properly phrase, a speech I’d have to deliver with tears threatening to burst forth, a speech you’d never understand until the time came.  _

——————————

Steve could sense Natasha’s gaze burning a hole through his skull, and with tears streaming down his face, why wouldn’t she be curious? 

“Hey, c’mere,” she wrapped her arms around his back gently, feeling how shaky he was and how his shoulders shuddered with every strangled, muffled sob into her shoulder. 

“Nat,” he whispered, heaving waves of agony washing over him as he closed his eyes and laid his head on her shoulder. 

He knew that Natasha was oblivious to the pain searing through his lungs, and the heavy, dreadful ache settling in his chest. She’d never understand. But he knew that she’d always be by his side, no matter the situation.

“I—” Steve opened his mouth, but the sobs wracking through his frame, coupled with the sheer grief and agony clawing at his throat, caused him to barely manage one word.

He was met with Natasha’s gentle touch running up and down his back, giving him small pats on the back every now and then. She hated seeing Steve break down, but above all, she hated how she had no idea what had happened for him to be clutching onto her weakly, struggling to breathe. Because Steve never cried. 

She held him in silence, rocking him slowly as his tears soaked her shoulder, the fabric darkening with each second that passed. A tiny lapse let him pull away, blinking lashes heavy with tears, before he collapsed again, his silent sobs sounding the most desolate they’ve ever been.

“You’re going to be oka—”

_ “I love you.”  _

Natasha pulled back from their embrace, looking up to find his eyes wide and red-rimmed, his lips trembling in a way that Natasha had never seen in all her years by Steve’s side.

He did it. He finally said the three words he’d always wanted to say. No more ‘what-if’s, no more ‘if-only’s, no more failed tries, no more moments of him wishing he had said it to her before she was torn away. 

“Steve…” She trailed off, resting her forehead gently on his chest, damp from his own tears trickling down his neck and staining his hoodie. After moments of shared silence and quiet sobs, she broke the air.

“Till the end of time?” She looked up at him, her eyes beginning to well up with tears. 

Steve raised his hand, taking one last, long look at the numbers on his watch.

** _11:00:00_ **

_ “Till the end of time.”  _

Then, the air around him grew quiet as he shut his eyes in fear, expecting the familiar crash resonating throughout the city. 

Except, there was none. 

——————————

** _11:00:13_ **

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking back tears mixed with sweat. There was a void in his chest, the warmth no longer radiating and the comforting shoulder nowhere to be seen. 

Looking down at the concrete, he expected to see a pool of crimson red forming around his feet, unforgivingly taking up more and more of the sidewalk, until the pavement had been covered in nothing but a sea of red. Instead, a bouquet of white roses lay on the ground, the petals lightly speckled with dirt and dust, but otherwise, the pristine petals seemed to catch the morning sunlight perfectly. 

Then, his gaze trailed eastwards, where he noticed a crisp, white envelope tucked carefully between the stalks. Picking it up, he ran his fingers along the singed corners, then his eyes landed on the writing inscribed on the front. 

_ ‘Steve’ _

It was written neatly in cursive, a lopsided heart drawn on hurriedly next to his name. 

He clutched the flowers and the envelope close to his chest, knowing that they were the last of what Natasha had left him with.   
  


——————————

_ ‘Steve. _

_ First off, I know I don’t write letters often. In fact, never. But something made me do it; I’m not sure if it’s the sheer excitement of knowing we’re about to meet after, what, five months? Or if it’s just from the crazy fever I had last night.’ _

He could hear her voice ringing in his head as he read word after word, line after line. Tears made furrows on his dirt-streaked face, and they never ceased. It was just him, the letter clutched tightly in both hands, his shoulders trembling slightly and Liho curled up in a ball beside his knees. He read each word slowly, as if he was afraid that if he went any faster, they’d disappear from his sight instantly. Until, he reached the last paragraph and let the tears struggling to be contained flow forth.

_ ‘I'm grateful to have found a partner, a teammate, a friend, whom I can trust. Trust is a dangerous thing to have; that’s what my handlers used to say. They said I’d never grow to trust someone, that partnership and attachments would never be the Black Widow’s. She works alone. She’s a lone wolf. Until I met you. You gave me a place in this world, showed me that I was worth much more than what they made me to be.’ _

“You were always enough, Natasha.” He whispered to himself, dark grey patches steadily blooming on the letter in his hands as he crumpled the edges under his grip. 

As his gaze trailed to the last line on the paper, he felt his stomach lurch all of a sudden. 

_ ‘I love you, Steve.’ _

His eyes went over the three words at the bottom of the paper again and again, until reality finally sunk in.

_ She loved him. _

Their banter in the car on the way to New Jersey, him struggling to look for someone with shared life experience, Natasha’s incessant attempts at setting him up— All this time, it was her. It was always her. 

_ He knew. _

_ But she knew too. _

Then, his words to Bruce at Stark’s party replayed in his mind again.

_ “As maybe the world’s leading authority on waiting too long, don’t.” _

She asked for eleven minutes.

He took twelve.

“I love you too, Nat.”

** _11:12:00_ **

——————————

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this is the final chapter of eleven minutes! i hope you've enjoyed this mini fic; it's my first multi-chap :') writing this was an emotional rollercoaster, it's been a bittersweet ride! leave a comment if you'd like to, i always love receiving and reading them!!


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